Chapter 44: The Trap

We found Captain Foster at Spencer's Ordinary, not far from the Chickahominy, and also found that we had missed a pretty nasty fight between Simcoe's rangers, who had been out raiding a supply depot, and some of Lafayette's men under Colonel Butler. Butler, Captain Foster told us, had lost a couple of dozen men but thought he had cost Simcoe twice that, forcing him to withdraw to Williamsburg where Cornwallis had his main force camped.

"They're laying a trap," Mercy said, "that's what I heard from a captain's woman, his mistress I guess you'd call her. She was proud of who she was laying with."

"What sort of trap," asked my captain, his fingers pressed together under his chin.

"I'm not sure where or when, but down a ways, when the British get ready to cross the river to Portsmouth, they plan to suck Wayne's men in and destroy him, hiding their army somehow. This woman said her man would be in hiding, ready to spring the trap when the time came."

"Do you know where he's headed, I mean Cornwallis," Foster asked.

"Last I heard," Mercy said, forehead furrowed, "it was Jamestown and then Portsmouth. Guess he'll cross the river at Jamestown. It's pretty narrow there, ain't it?"

"Have you heard any more about Clinton?"

Mercy shook her head.

"Or the fleet?" Foster asked.

"No," she said, "all they talk about is teaching Wayne another lesson."

"Thank you," Foster said, standing and offering her his hand. "You did a good job. I'm glad he brought you in. You may have saved a lot of lives."

"What now?" I asked.

"Get out there and continue doing your job. get me more information. Ride on down to Jamestown, if that's where they're headed. Find out what boats they've brought in, what's goin' on. Mercy can go back to Richmond, I suppose, maybe see if Pamela can find her work, or Mr. Ransome."

"Yes sir," I said. "I'm down to farthings for bribes and such. Can you spare some more hard money? Won't nobody take paper any more."

He tossed me a purse that was pleasingly heavy to add to the one I had not told him about. "I'll go over to the south bank, maybe to that old Rolfe place. Peninsula's too narrow here. You going to stay down here or get back to Richmond yourself?"

"I'll be here. You report next on the first of July. That's just five days so get going."

Outside his tent, Mercy grabbed my arm. "I'm going with you," she said. "Four eyes and three ears can do better." She smiled.

"All right," I said, having learned that there was no sense of debating with her and eager to get back between her long legs. "We'll go meet some other good women. This should be very interesting." I stopped to have one of the army medics look at my shoulder. He said it should have been stitched but it did not matter now.

"Why are we going to meet these women?" Mercy asked, looking concerned, unhappy or something similar.

"Cause they got horses, an' I expect we won't be able to ferry any across the river down here."

With the pass Captain Foster had given me, I drew a shirt and ammunition, and we requisitioned a tired horse for Mercy and rode west, crossing the river on a flatboat near the Brandon plantation after leaving our mounts in a stable above the James. I gave the blacksmith a crown. He bit it, smiled and assured me that the nags would get the best of care.

We walked into the setting sun and reached the H-- plantation in time for a late supper. Mercy carried the musket slung over her shoulder, and I toted my long rifle and our other supplies. We both were leg weary by the time I stopped at the backyard well and drew up a bucket of cool water. I left our weapons and blanket rolls in Hamlet's care and took Mercy in through the back door and introduced her to Martha.

The old slave looked the red head up and down and smiled at her. "You 'pear right strong, gal. You a worker?"

"Always has been," Mercy told her with a smile.

"Miz H-- in her room. Don' know where dat Lotty is. She ain't home much since the ole man died." Martha looked at me with a quizzical eyebrow.

"Wait here. Martha'll get you something to drink," I told Mercy and then galloped up the back stairs. Missy was all in black and admiring herself in her long, French mirror, fluffing out her cream-colored lace. I stepped behind her and held her by the breasts, kissing her neck.

She looked at me in the mirror. "Black becomes me, don't you think?" she said. "Don't muss my hair."

"Indeed," I said, turning her around and kissing her properly, bending her back and enjoying her tongue. "Course your skin looks just fine, too, with nothin' on it."

"What are you up to, stranger?" Missy asked, squirming away and turning her attention back to her mirror. "We haven't seen you in a month a'Sundays, not since the funeral, have we?"

"Need a favor," I said.

"As always," she said, preening like a puffer pigeon.

"Need two horses and a meal," I said.

"Two horses?"

"Um, got a woman traveling with me." I decided to get that out and not surprise Missy downstairs.

"Who?"

"A fighter, a spy, a soldier. I don' know what to call her. She's been traveling with Cornwallis for two weeks, brave as a sheep dog."

"Lord a'mighty," Missy said. "You'd find a cunny in a monastery."

"Now Missy. This here's a good woman that had a rough time in this war."

"So have I. Been windowed twice in five years, haven't I? An' had to put up with you in my bed at all hours. What did you do to your eye?"

"Not much. I need a shirt, too. Can't go doing hard work in this good shirt."

"Humpf," she said. "likely got something in the slaves clothes you can use, all nubby or some such."

It ended up that Mercy stayed with Missy, and I rode south to see how things were on the road to Portsmouth. I spent one night with Booker Forest, got to my favorite tavern near the docks and was back at Missy's plantation by midnight on the last day of June, a Saturday. Missy would not let me in her bed, claiming that I smelled like a swamp, and Charlotte was evidently entertaining, judging from the candlelight and the grunting and groaning coming from her cottage by the river. I was tempted to look in the window, but did not. I walked carefully back toward the stable where I put my tired horse, assuming that Ham would find me space for my bedroll.

Out of the darkness appeared a figure in a white shirt. It was a moonless night and the low clouds did not let in much starlight.

"Where you goin'?" Mercy asked, holding out her long arms.

"To bed," I said, eating her mouth up and holding her hard to my chest, her feet kicking in the air. My hands found out that all she was wearing was a man's shirt, one that felt like silk.

"I heard you go to Missy's room an' get thrown out," she said with a giggle. I smacked her bare bottom lightly.

"Shame on you," I said. "Let's go in here." I led her to the stable and found my blanket roll. Then we climbed to the loft. I spread out the gray blanket and she sat on it while I undressed. Touching Magda's knife reminded me of the loft where we had loved a long time ago, almost five years before. This war seemed endless.

"Missy's right," Mercy said very quietly when we finally lay together. "You do smell awful strong."

"Wasn't out of them clothes 'cept once in four days," I said, sliding my hand up under her loose shirt and capturing a warm breast.

"An' no women?"

"No women," I lied since Margy and I had only spent a few minutes in sweaty congress at the tavern in Portsmouth. "Whose pretty shirt is this?"

"Mine," she said, sitting up and pulling it off. "Don't wont to ruin it either or get it all smelly. Missy give it me; twas her late husband's she said. Not sure which one." She mounted my thighs, keeping her head bent because of the low timbers.

"Does feel like you missed me," she said, scooting forward. She made a sound like she had picked up a heavy weight. It was warm in the upper part of the barn, and we both were sweat covered before I achieved joyful relief, almost tossing her over my head. She grabbed the back of my knees and continued on for some while, making humming sounds until she shook, leaned forward and trembled with her fingers biting into my chest, sighing deeply, and exhaling over and over, her knees well up on my ribs. She collapsed atop me, stretched out, and we started all over, climbing more rapidly to a gasping, mutual release, rocking back and forth on my back and her knees.